With These Eyes
by EternallyDrowning
Summary: He wasn't sure how long he had been watching her. He didn't even know why he kept wanting to watch her. But for some odd reason, one that confused him beyond his understanding, he could not find the will to look away. GaaraxSakura
1. With These Eyes

**Okay people, the reason I haven't updated for a while is because I was working on this. It's a short story! There's only gonna be about 5 chapters, and I'm currently working on the third. ENJOY!**

He wasn't sure how long he had been watching her.

He didn't even know why he kept wanting to watch her. But for some odd reason, one that confused him beyond his understanding, he could not find the will to look away.

Every time she passed him by on her way to school, whether she with her friends or alone, there was something, something about her that he couldn't look away from.

Perhaps it was her defiant personality, her strong will, or maybe it was the fact that she was just…different.

After all, Sakura Haruno was not like most girls. Not in the least.

Her hair was the shade of a flower, abnormal to everyone else, and her body was petite looking, but still had a powerful majestic glow about it that radiated strength. Then there were her eyes. A girl's eyes were to be soft and average, yet feminine and warm. Hers were not. They were a deep liquid emerald, catching the sunlight and swallowing it up for their own selfish purposes. They were not soft and warm. They were serious, calculating, and were as cold in appearance as ice.

She had not chosen to have those eyes, or to have that beautiful hue of hair, but she did not loathe her looks. She did not regret her appearance. She did not find it as disgusting and terrifying as the others did.

So they stared, everyone stared.

She was just too odd not to notice, too…wrong.

No, even that may not be right.

Maybe she was the model of perfection, and it was just everyone else that could not reach such a superb level of being.

It was because of these noble traits, these reasons, that Sabuku no Gaara could not look away.

Slowly, the continuous sightings of her started taking its toll.

He found himself depressed without her in his eyes. He could find nothing as interesting, as beautiful, and he was slowly starting to lose his grip on his control.

He had to see her.

Always.

He did not want to live without her. After all, she was just like him.

Alone, unloved, and dangerous.

Her parents had died in a car crash when she was nine years old. The one that killed them was a drunken under-aged teenager that got away with only three weeks community service and a small juvey record that would be wiped clean once he turned 18. She felt the pain. She drowned in the hatred. She understood now that there was no such thing as justice. No one will help you. No one will be there to avenge you. No one will be there for you to rely on. There was only yourself.

And she accepted it, because somewhere in the back of her mind…she had always known.

Her life had been spent traveling from foster home to foster home, family to family. Everyone wanted her, for she was beautiful, but once they saw that she wasn't the warm little child that would call them mom and dad, they threw her away.

After all, grown ups are just like children. Selfish, greedy, demanding the toys they want, only to discard them when they realized they didn't like them after all…

He had seen it, the deeper coldness her eyes adopted, the ever growing hatred she had for others.

And she should.

It is in human nature to think of only yourself. It is an instinct. Humans pretend that they're taking care of others out of good will and best intention, but deep down they knew they were lying. They were always lying. The one who takes care of the helpless would be seen as a good person. Others would follow their example, making them the leader of the group.

Selfish.

Not many people can see this flaw, this instinct, and those that do have eyes that are incredibly cold, incredibly alone. After all, eyes reflect what they see of the world, and if they saw the true cruelty of the world, wouldn't they too be just as cruel?

She was not the only one, however, that had such eyes. He did too. Both of them, different in appearance, yet alike in pain.

They were both alone, both by themselves. Perhaps that was why he needed to always see her. After all, one who is lonely seeks out the lonely, so they too can have a companion like everyone else.

They were different. They had different ways of avoiding other's notice. For her, she talked to girls her own age. She acted the way girls were supposed to act in high school: talking about boys, listening to the latest music, complaining about homework on the phone… But this was not her. She had calculated. She had known that if she acted out on her true feelings than others would notice her. Others would question her beliefs, her knowledge, and who, out of anyone that asked her about them, would believe her when she said that the world was wrong?

Her grades were high on the academic scale, for no one questions a good student, and her classmates took no notice of her because she did not cause a ruckus and kept to herself. Yet each day the lie she was living got bigger and bigger. She felt like screaming. He could tell. Her face would put on a fake smile and her eyes would seem to shine in pretend innocence. This was just a precaution. She was trying to make her face seem normal. If she contorted it into one of hatred and pain, others would see. She had to make up for her hatred with a lie of happiness. It was the only way they wouldn't notice.

And nobody did.

During assignments that allowed partners she would always sit by herself and work alone. Always alone. Sure, she had the illusion of friends, but deep down, deep in her heart, she knew they were title alone. He saw it in her eyes. That doubt. That illuminating shine of knowing. She was fine with that too. What would getting close to others get her? No, she needed to be strong. If being utterly alone would be her strength, then she would bare it.

And she did.

He was not as thorough in his façade. He found no reason.

If someone ever asked him if he was feeling okay or if something was wrong he would simply glare at them, or start a fight, or do something that would scare them out of wanting to know. He didn't always make them fearful, most of the time he just ignored them or told them he was fine. After all, humans will only ask a person so many times. The truth was, no one really cared.

So he lived life with a wall around himself, warding off others who wanted to come close.

He would walk home to an empty house. His two siblings were the only ones to take care of him so they had to quit school and work two full time jobs each just to make ends meet. It hadn't always been like that. They used to go to school as well. They used to pull large pranks on the school staff, all three of them together, but that was the closest they ever got to being a family. His brother and sister played the part of responsible older siblings well. They helped him with things he didn't understand, they made him PB&J when he was hungry, and they took him to the park on a regular basis. But they always knew something was wrong about him, that something was off. They just didn't know what it was.

Their dad was the president of a local chain of businesses in their small town. The business was just on the verge of begin spread out into a country-wide company due to it's success, but that never happened. A competing business did not like the idea of a new enemy in their territory, so they arranged for an "accident" to happen. A terrible, terrible accident.

He had only been seven. His brother had walked him home and dropped him off at the door because he was going to a friend's house to play video games right after. It was not an odd occurrence and it was common for his older brother to do so. So Gaara walked up to his house.

Right away he knew something was wrong.

The door was unlocked when he tried to handle. It swung open with the slightest of ease, disappearing into the dark gloom of the house.

He stepped inside.

The house was cold and the air was stale. The shoes usually left by the door in neat pairs were strewn throughout the hallway next to the door. Pictures were ripped off of walls, the wallpaper itself seemed to be sliced for a large gash was leading all the way from the door down to the hallway, the wall located beneath it was marked with a slight crack, as though a sharp object had been run across it, scarring the material behind it.

He was scared.

His father was not a nice man. Not to him at least.

His brother and sister knew that their father was unusually cruel to him, but they never saw anything happen, so they remained silent and uncaring. After all, what child could possibly fear an abusing parent if they pain did not belong to them?

In truth, his father had abused him so severely that once, when he was around five, the excuse was made up that he had gone to a young children's summer camp, when he was actually in a hospital. The lie his father had told the doctors was that he had gotten into a fight at daycare because he would not move out of the way for the older children. They had retaliated against him and began to attack him. Being children, they did not know when it was enough. By the time the manager had gone to see what the ruckus was about it was already too late.

An obvious lie, but a believable one.

That is why, when Sabuku no Gaara saw the damage done to the house, he was afraid.

His father was a drunk, not that he could have understood that at the time, but he knew when it was dangerous to be around him.

But that was not the only thing that was wrong.

He could not find his sister.

An eleven year old was more able to avoid an attacking father, but even this Gaara was unsure of, so he went to find her.

Throughout the house glasses were smashed, the TV was laying broken on the floor, and the windows had all the blinds closed.

He was passing a half opened closet when he heard a noise from upstairs.

"Temari?" he had called for his sister, and he turned toward the direction of the sound.

But he never made it, two strong hands had pulled him deep within the closet, closing the door nearly closed behind him.

Frozen, too scared to move, he stood there, the figure behind him pulling him closer against their body. A strange odor filled the air. Gaara recognized it from when he had wet the bed once when he was younger. His father had been furious and smacked him across the face so hard that he fell to the floor.

Gaara's fear increased.

'Father' he thought, 'father's going to think I wet myself again. He's going to be so mad!'

It was because of this that he started fighting against his captor, trying desperately to get free from their grasp.

"Let go!" he had demanded.

A hand was clamped painfully tight against his mouth.

"Shhh! They'll hear you!" came the harsh whisper of a familiar voice.

It was his sister that had grabbed him, not his father.

A sense of relief came over him and he was no longer afraid.

That is, until he heard someone coming down the stairs.

Gaara looked, though he did not want to, through the small opening between the doors of the closet, the dark living room being exposed to him.

That's when he saw him.

An unknown man was in their house, and being pulled behind him was the nearly unconscious body of their father.

The man was tall, clothed in dark black, with an even blacker color of hair tied back into a long ponytail.

"Who would have thought that that the great leader of the Suna Company would be such a blubbering idiot? All I did was cut off your pinky."

Gaara shivered.

The man's voice was cold and filled the space between them like a hiss, forever ringing off his ears.

He did not like the voice. He did not like the man, but he could not voice his complaints for his shaking sister was still clamped to his mouth.

The man threw their father onto the floor in front of him, quickly jumping over the body, he grabbed his dust brown hair and forced the crumpled man to his butt, his back resting against the chest of the intruder.

Gaara watched. The eyes of his father were drowsy with death, nearly rolling back into his head, barely being able to stay open. His mouth was dripping with a smalls stream of saliva. He appeared so weak.

His youngest son swallowed.

Seeing his father in such a weakened state, in such a vulnerable sate, Gaara could not help but feel…something. It was not anger. It was no longer fear. The nearest thing he could think of to describe such a feeling was joy.

Finally, someone was showing this man what pain felt like. He was glad.

Leaning down, the intruder whispered sweet phrases into their father's ear. Something shiny was pulled out from the coat of the man. It was a blade, like the ones Gaara had seen on their kitchen knives, but it was smaller…sharper.

Reaching over, the man placed the edge of it against their father's neck, and he sliced, slowly dragging the blade across his throat.

The victim's eyes widened with shock, his voice giving out a gurgle of protest, but all that was soon unimportant.

All Gaara could see was the blood.

Trickling down his father's throat in gushes and pluses, the ruby liquid fell. Sometimes it squirted, sometimes it just sputtered. But it was red, vermillion, crimson, all different words describing the same beautiful color, and Gaara found that he liked the color. He found that it suited his father perfectly.

Time no longer mattered. Their father was strewn across the floor. Dead. The man had cleaned off the blade and then started cleaning the house, wiping it of all evidence that he had been there, and then he left.

The closet door opened. Temari burst through it crying, giant drops of salty tears sliding down her round little face. She was wailing, screaming out their father's name as well as chants of "Father! Father! Wake up! Father!" as she tried in vain to wake him.

Gaara stood there, just barely out of the closet.

He could not look away from the body, no matter how hard he tried.

It was like an addiction to him, the sight of his father's blood covered corpse.

After all the pain, after all the torture that man had put him through, the bastard was finally dead.

He kept replaying the scene over and over in his mind. The man, his father, the blade, the blood. Again and again. He needed to relive the experience. He needed to relive the emotion he felt when he first saw the blood.

When the man's retreating figure entered his mind, he found that he did not hate him.

He found that he was not angry with him.

He found that, instead of being sad and terrified of the killing…he was happy.

As soon as he recognized the feeling, the emotion, the truth, he couldn't help but smile.

* * *


	2. The Life Which is Mine

He had seen her, for he could always see her, in a dark alleyway walking home after a fight at a friend's house had ended badly.

One of her friends, a popular blonde, had confronted her about that fact that her boyfriend told her she was in love with Sakura, not her, during a sleepover at another friend's expensive looking house. This had not been Sakura's fault, but her friend would not listen. The blonde had always been jealous of the fact that she was so innocent compared to her. The blonde was, after all, the school slut. There had been screaming, a few punches, and hurtful words, but it did not matter. Not to Sakura anyway. She acted like it mattered, for the sake of the act she showed the world, but she didn't really care. After all, all the blonde was, was an illusion of a friend. As long as the blonde was replaced by someone else it wouldn't matter to anyone. No one at all. Friends have fights all the time, but this one had made her leave the sleepover, since it was the blonde that had burst out crying in a complete mental breakdown, not Sakura.

She had not been flat-out told to leave, for the stuttering girl the house belonged to would never make her leave out of shyness as well as her kind heartedness, but the situation was immediately understood.

She did not belong in their world. She did not care about boys, or the latest fashions, or the newest gadgets that cell phones could offer. She had always been different. It just took everyone else some time to notice it, and that's only because no one was really looking.

She was shivering through the thin material of her shirt., regretting for a moment that she refused to take a sweater with her, wanting to warm herself up with her arms, but that would be too pitiful. Too below her. She was strong. The cold would not kill her. She could take it. So she continued walking, ignoring the sounds of cars by the road, not trusting the drivers with her life when they controlled the roads and she was only a doll next to them. She could take care of herself. She had always taken care of herself.

The alley was dark, and resonating a deep loneliness, only amplifying the cold. Shadows danced beside her, trying to coax her into fear.

But she was not afraid.

A longing filled his gut. He wanted to touch her. Just once. Not in any way sexually. He just wanted to reach out and touch her skin. He only wanted to see if it felt as cold as his did, or if it was warm like he wanted his to be.

But he would not.

If he did it would forever break the bond of their relationship, shattering the safety of the glass box he resided in.

Every time he saw her his blood would freeze. It would seem to immediately stop flowing from inside his veins. There was an aura that separated them, an invisible wall. He could not rip through it, for it seeped through his fingers like air. Perhaps this aura was his hope, or maybe his faith. He considered Sakura to have the essence of a god, and once someone touched a god that feeling may change… He did not want it to change. He wanted this feeling, this relationship, to last forever.

He was not a stalker. He did not want to become her, he did not want to be like her, he did not want to be the only one in her life that she cared about.

He was simply a viewer.

He only wanted to see her.

He simply wanted to see her act as the drama of her life unfolded.

If she were a bird, then he would be the one watching her through binoculars. If she were a celebrity, then he would be the one photographing her. If she were someone of historical significance, then he would be the one writing down every event in her life.

Never had he met someone so closely related to him. He was curious. How would she live her life with those feelings of hers? How would she react to situations based on those feelings? How would she die? Would she take her own life?

He simply wanted to know.

Perhaps this was because she was his hope of a different life. He had shunned everyone, cursed them, spat on them, but she hadn't. Perhaps the reason he couldn't look away from her was the fact that she was the life that he could have had if he had acted differently.

There was nothing wrong, he found, with observing his own life.

So he continued to watch, fascinated, as she walked by herself through the dark of the alleyway.

Her hair blow lightly in the soft breeze, part of it catching on the metal angel of her necklace.

She paid no mind.

A trashcan fell over, she looked at it, watching as a calico cat ran across the road in front of her. She watched it, silently, as it disappeared into the shadows, just as he watched her. If Gaara had been the cat, he would have stayed there, watching her watch him. Together, through their heated gaze alone, they would understand one another's pain. Together they would find solace.

But he was not a cat.

Sakura suddenly stopped walking, and turned her head around toward the direction where he was watching her from, her eyes scanning the darkness in search of something.

Had she heard him? Had he done something that caught her attention?

He backed up to better conceal himself behind a rotted fence.

He was not afraid. Nor was he hiding. He was simply trying not to exist. Should she discover him, should she see him, her attitude would change. Right now she was her true self. She was hiding nothing, for there was no one to hide from, but should he be discovered, watching her from the shadows, she would change into the good student, the innocent girl, the fake person she lived as in the cruel world.

He did not want that.

So he hid, and stayed silent, clamping his hand over his mouth in order to conceal the sound of his breathing, just as he had in the closet so many years ago.

They stayed like this, he pretending not to exist, her trying to prove he did. Both of them were uncertain of the amount of time that had passed, but after a period of time Sakura turned back around and began walking again.

Gaara did not move.

Yes, she was walking, but at the same time she wasn't. She was testing him. She did not believe that he did not exist. This was merely a trick she was playing the coax him out of the shadows. It would not work. He would not let it work. He had seen the action for what it was; a cleverly deployed trap for someone of a lesser intelligence than her. But he was not.

Many times, when he had watched her, there had been close calls when she felt the sense of being watched. She would stop moving, turn around, and try to look for him. She had never been able to find him. He was much to clever for that, and there was too much at stake for him to lose if he was discovered. Sometimes it was not him that she felt watching her, after all, many people would watch such a different looking girl from the shadows. None would try to walk up to her and observe her, it was seen as unacceptable in society, but nothing in society warranted against watching from afar. Should they be caught they could make up any excuse they wanted in defense. It could never be proven.

Gaara was not like them.

If he was ever caught, which he made sure he wouldn't be, he would tell her the truth.

She was not the kind of stupid girl that would immediately find lies, even well spoken ones, to be the truth. She would know. She always knew. Even if she acted as though she believed those that lied to her, she would always know, right from the beginning. There is, after all, a difference from believing those who lie to you, and knowing without acting upon that knowledge.

No longer believing, or possibly caring, if she was being fallowed or not, she stopped trying to prove he was there and continued to give her full attention to making it home.

Finding it safe to move again, he followed her example, remaining the eyes in her shadow.

She was very composed. Her feelings showed nothing in her physical appearance. Her body was relaxed, her hands gently placed in her jean pockets at her sides, her eyes closed sweetly as she walked. Gaara found a slight enjoyment in trying to solve the puzzle of her true emotions from her appearance alone. She tried, but she sometimes, subconsciously, she would leaked small traces of her true feelings into her act. They would be subtle little things, like the slight raising of an eyebrow, or the small twitch of her mouth as she tried to conceal a smirk, or even a slow blink. All he had to do to see them, was wait.

This is what he had learned.

The faintest of movement in either of her eyebrows would signify that she was feeling amused, almost in a teasing way, but only if one moved. If they both twitched, or raised, it meant that she was surprised, or even shocked. Her eyes were usually closed when she walked, but when given the chance, they would be visible. If they moved to the bottom left she was feeling followed, and if the bottom right it signified that she was feeling threatened or angry. If she moved her gaze to the top right she was being thoughtful, or reminiscing about something, but if it was the top left it meant she was sad.

He could not see her emerald eyes now, though he wanted too, for they were closed and he was behind her, but he couldn't fight the feeling in his gut that she was looking directly forward. It was the sign of her contentment, and also her weakness. She was blank minded, not thinking about anything in particular. It also meant she wasn't paying attention.

A feeling swelled in his stomach, a queasy, forceful, feeling. Concern? Fear? Anger? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that it made him edgy, and at unease.

No, it was nothing like that. He was merely irritated that he didn't know what her eyes were doing. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to know what she was thinking. He wanted to know what she was feeling, and right now he couldn't. And he hated that.

She stopped again, this time suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. She received his full attention again, but she was not looking toward his direction. No, she was looking toward the shadowed alleyway, toward the abandoned section of land on the left, the darkest and most lifeless part of the alley.

Her face was incredibly serious, almost defensive. Her eyes were opened and staring out in a glare toward the shadows. Body shifting, she took her hands out of her pockets and let them cross over her chest, a defiant aura given off by her posture.

She says nothing. She fears nothing. She merely looks.

That's when he saw it.

A group of figures emerged from the shadows, four or five of them at lest. They were smirking in a disgusting way, bodies leaning forward, some held glass bottles, one of them broke his against the metal lid of a trash can, turning the bottle into a weapon.

"Hey, beautiful," one of them whistled, "Why don't you play with us for a while?"

Sakura's face changed into one of worry, her hand reached up to her lips, her teeth slightly biting her nail.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to be going home. My mom is expecting me soon." Sakura said in a sweet little voice to try and make them believe her lie. She tried to look at one of the men in the eye, but she couldn't hold his gaze.

Gaara wanted to rip his throat out right there.

Those men had ruined it.

Sakura was herself only moments before and then they had to come and ruin it.

He knew, he had seen her change before, the moment she was alone she would start showing the rare sightings of her true self, but as soon as someone else showed up she turned into the thing that people wanted her to be.

Finally, after hours of waiting, he had finally been starting to see her convert back to her original state. Then the men came, and made her change back.

He gripped his hand tightly around a discarded metal bar in the trashcan, indenting it slightly, in an attempt to conceal his growing anger, his sudden wanting to kill.

He tried to calm down. He had to. If he didn't control himself and stepped out into the scene everything would be ruined. She would see him. If she saw him then it wouldn't be the same. He had to be anonymous. He had to be an unknown to her. It would ruin everything if she saw him. The feeling he got when watching her wouldn't be the same. So he sat there, watching everything unfold. Waiting for the men to leave, waiting for the moment when he would be able to kill them.

"We want to play. Now you're going to help us, or something not-so-fun is going to happen to your face," laughed the one with the broken bottle. A few others started laughing too, but others stayed quiet, not quite thinking gashing up a girl's face could be seen as fun.

Raping, yes. Gashing, no. Those was the rules they lived by.

Sakura took a step backward, as if she was trying to retreat slowly to the other side of the alleyway.

"I really need to be getting home." she repeated to deaf ears.

One jumped in front of her, grabbing her wrist. "Aw? What's wrong? Don't you want to have a little fun?"

She glared at him. "No, I don't. Now, let go of me."

A small trickle of her true personality bled into her eyes, and the man saw it. She was warning him that she was going to kill him if he didn't back off. She wasn't a defenseless little brat walking alone at night. She was a murderer waiting to happen and he would be murdered by her if he didn't back off.

Instead of being scared the man only tightened his grip. "Well," he said, shoving her roughly against a building, "this is loads more fun if you can fight back!"

Gaara watched, slightly sickened at the scene, as the man ran his tongue from her collar bone to right below her eye. His arms was shoved viciously against her throat to keep her from screaming out, as well as to keep her in place. She glared at him, killing him with her eyes. He seemed to love it, and it only encouraged him more. Using his free hand he ran his fingers through her soft hair, clutching it tightly and yanking it to the side in an attempt to make her yelp.

She didn't.

The man saw this as a challenge. Releasing her hair he slid his hand down to the bottom of her shirt, grabbing hold of the material and dragging it up to her breast, exposing her black bra underneath and the creaminess of her angel-like skin.

Gaara was entranced. He had watched her for a long time, but he had never been able to see her covered skin exposed like that before, he had only been able to see the pearly white of her muscular legs, her arms, and the soft lusciousness of her face. Once, when he stood outside her house in the shadows, he had seen the silhouette of her changing through the curtain of her room. The lights had been on, causing a perfect replica of her figure to appear in the window in a black shadow. She had been graceful and delicate with the removal of her clothes. He had wondered what she was thinking then too. He had wanted to know why she was so caring to her skin when she was changing.

Whenever he changed he would violently take his clothes off and discard them into a heap on the floor, only the shove them in the washer sometime later. But her, she had been so…

"If you don't stop touching me you're going to regret it. Do you understand that?" Sakura hissed. The man stopped his advances and glared at her.

"You talk to much." he growled, slapping her hard across the face.

Clutching against the metal pole even harder, Gaara used the last of his strength to keep from running out.

Don't move, he tried to convince himself, Watch her. She'll do something. She'll do something that she won't do if you go in. This is the other you, this is how your life could have been. Watch what you would have done.

The man continued his advancements, his hand trailing up to her breast and rubbing against it through the material of her bra.

Stealthily, as though achieved through intense practice, she gripped the building behind her, clawing at a loose plank, and trying using her strength to pry it loose.

"She likes it!" one of the man's friends laughed, falling down on the floor in what appeared to be in drunken confusion.

Another one behind him chimed in, "Better go easy on her, Jeremiah, she looks like she's trying to hold in an orgasm! Just look at that slut's face!" causing the rest of the group to burst out in laughter.

Gaara paid their words no mind. They were, after all, idiots, idiots who didn't know her like he did. No. No one knew her like he did. No one had ever tried. No one had ever been like her enough to notice. They were, after all, the same life. One and the same. They had just chosen different paths from each other.

He let a prevailing smile spread throughout his lips as she finally pried the piece loose enough to completely yank it off.

"I told you," she brought the wooden board swiftly down and slammed it into the side of his neck, "that if you didn't stop touching me you'd regret it."

The other group members watched their friend fall to the floor unconscious, on the verge of death.

"Bitch!" the one with the broken bottle screamed, running forward toward her in a blind fury.

Sakura merely adjusted her hold on the board and brought it down on his hand, making him slice it with the broken glass.

"Fuck!" he wailed, holding his wounded hand to his chest. "You fucking bitch! I'll fucking kill you!"

Sakura tilted her head to the side boredly.

Gaara held back a small chuckle. The one with the broken bottle had, simply, miscalculated. He thought he would win since his weapon could immediately create a lethal blow, but he forgot. He forgot the fact that no weapon can hurt you if it cannot make contact with flesh. She had had the upper hand immediately since she had a longer ranged weapon. He made a simple mistake. And he paid for it.

"I don't want to kill anyone. You're unconscious friend is still alive, but he needs to be taken to a hospital right away. Take him. I would rather he live and all of you getting away than me having to knock you all out leaving him to die." Her voice sang. "I'll be going then."

It was a beautiful sound, her voice. There was no sweeter sound in all the world. That's what Gaara thought. Innocent, virtuous… She did not want to kill anyone. She did not want to hurt anyone unless necessary. A truly caring person by instinct. Something he could have been. Yes, he could have been like her too…if things had been different. He could have had a life where no one had to be hurt because of him, no one trembled in fear at the very mention of his name…

"No you fucking won't!" someone screamed.

As if an order was given, the remaining males ran toward her, picking up various pieces of wood, one a trashcan lid, and prepared to avenge their friends. They cam upon her like a wave. She was able to avoid most of the blows, only getting a few light scratches from sharper pieces of wood, but she was getting tired. She had been up all night and the fight with her friend had taken it's toll on her. She was starting to get slower, but the men were riled up and demanding blood. She would have to fight hard in order to get away.

She managed, with the last amounts of her strength, to knock two more of them out- dislocating the jaw of one in the process -as well as breaking the knee of another, immobilizing him and leaving him alone to scream in pain. That left two others, an uninjured man with the trashcan lid, and the man that had his hand cut by his own bottle, but he did not seem to want to attack her himself.

Seeing the fate of his friends, the man dropped his trashcan lid to the ground in a form of surrender, and ran away.

Sakura sighed, finally getting the break she needed, and dropped her own weapon to the ground.

She forgot about the last man, but it wasn't really forgetting. She had considered him to be no threat, for he didn't make any advancements since the sight of his own blood.

She was wrong.

The plank by her feet was immediately snatched away, and before she could comprehend what had just taken place, it was slammed into the back of her head like a baseball bat, and she fell to the ground, all consciousness lost.

Gaara growled, the anger inside him becoming so dangerously high that he could only see the man on top of Sakura, nothing else. He was only slightly aware of the wounded men, of the cars on the street somewhere behind him, of the curse words the few conscious were saying in their pain.

The bastard was busily trying to unclasp her bra, shifting his weight so that his knee was jammed painfully into her stomach, as though in unconsciousness she would feel pain. He was going to rape her. Anyone would have understood that.

Whether to help, whether to rink going out into the scene… Gaara's mind was in turmoil. He wanted to go out there and kill that man. He wanted to go out there so bad. Yet he couldn't. He wanted to help her, to save her from the humiliation that was to come, but deep inside him he didn't.

This is how it would have been for him. He would have tried, he would have been close, but just as he saw the sweet victory, he would be defeated. There were only two options in his life, kill or be killed. He was a boy, so a man would most likely just kill him. Sakura was a girl, she was most likely to be raped and then killed. He was a killer, Sakura wasn't. These were the two truths of his life.

He was a watcher. He was not seen. He only observed. He never acted. He was the eyes in the dark that followed her everywhere, understanding, wondering, awed. Once he came to her aid it would never be the same. Never, never the same. He would be know to her, she would know he was there. That feeling he had come to love so much, the relationship they had, it would all be gone.

But he did not want this.

His heart clenched, his hand ran to it to try and muffle it's agony, but it barely helped.

He needed to do something, but he couldn't let her see him. He had to by anonymous. Always. But seeing that man on top of her, running his disgusting hands all over her chest, trying to take off her pants…he couldn't bare it.

All he had to do was find one reason to justify his helping her. One simple excuse to save her.

She was unconscious and couldn't fight back, that is what he knew.

His eyes widened in realization.

If she was unconscious she would not be able to see him. She would not understand what had happened.

That was all he needed.

Yanking the metal rod out of the trashcan he charged forward, the target of his anger oblivious to his existence.

Even if he was, it would be useless.

"You have no right to touch her, you bastard!"

He slammed the metal bar into the side of his skull, throwing him off the girl with so much force that his head spun around and made a sickening snap.

Gaara did not care.

This man had violated the thing he loved most. The reason he had for living, the hope he had for himself for himself that he could have been different. This man had dared try and soil it.

The metal weapon was brought down multiple times. Each blow more powerful than the last.

"I'll fucking kill you, you fucker!" he screamed, smashing down, once again, onto the man's skull.

Not knowing how long this had lasted, only knowing that his anger was finally starting to subside, Gaara stopped smashing the man's head in and threw the rod to the side and into a deep muddy puddle.

He looked down at what he had done, heavy breathes filling his lungs and the silence of the air.

The man's face was completely unrecognizable; his face caving in onto itself, his blood and brains splattering the dirt road. His throat had been impaled when Gaara slammed it through the skin in his fury, and his dick had been thoroughly destroyed so that he could never try to have sex with anyone ever again, even after death.

Gaara fell to his knees, exhausted.

Panting from his hard work, he looked over to the girl.

He relaxed a little.

She was still unconscious.

He stood, up, dusting himself off, and went to retrieve his weapon to clear it of his fingerprints.

Gaara stared at her, all evidence gone that he had ever been there, and at her peaceful expression.

Her hair was strewn across her face, a bunch of strands crossing over her mouth in an innocent placement, others hiding one of her closed eyes, and more still trying to shelter her exposed torso from the hideous world.

He could not look away, just like all the other times that he tried. He was glued to her, addicted to her, drawn to her… She was the missing part of him that he had been looking for. She was the one person who could truly understand him.

She was his other life.

He looked down at his other self, his gaze completely one of resolve.

This was his life, and it was time he took control of it.


	3. The Feel of Cold Fire

**Only one more chapter to go! (though it may be two, or else a FREAKISHLY long chapter, depending on how much I have happening in order to finish the story)**

He was a deer caught in headlights, eyes locked on his impending doom. Every cell inside him was screaming at him to run, to flee, to get away, but he couldn't. His legs wouldn't move, his body was stiff, and his eyes were locked on the thing that had the power to destroy him.

"Please, help me!"

She stared at him, eyes pleading and desperate, wet with tears that threatened to stream down her face, but behind the shine of the orbs was a wild need of survival.

She was afraid.

"Where is this!? Where am I!? Please, I need help!" she begged again.

He wanted to respond, to reassure her that she was perfectly safe here, that no one was going to hurt her, but he couldn't. His mouth was stale, dry, like something rotten had been there and had left its foul poisons, robbing him of speech. He swallowed, trying to see if that would help, but there was no liquid to be swallowed, and he felt the slight pain of choking on nothing but the air, the air and his own fear.

She was looking at him.

He gasped in horror.

She was looking at him!

He knew this moment would come, that this moment would have to happen. He knew that the moment he took her. He would have to make sure she was okay, unharmed from the struggle. But no amount of understanding of the future could have prepared him for her actually seeing him. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Her eyes on him was like an overwhelming pressure; a weight on his chest that kept his heart in a painful struggle to keep beating. He felt bile coming up in is throat. Escape, he needed to escape.

"Please, don't be scared!" she pleaded, her voice softer, gentler, but it still had a panicked edge to it. "Don't leave me! Please…" her voice was choking up now, filling with the sound of her restrained tears. It cracked and sparked, faded and loudened. It was no longer under her control. She was too confused, too scared, too alone.

Gaara was shocked.

When had he taken a step backward? When had he ever run away? Yet here he was, nearly three feet further away from her than he was only moments before. No, he wasn't going to run away from her, he could never run away from her, his other half.

He took a deep breath and swallowed, somehow able to keep down the vomit in his throat. This seemed to help him, and he managed to regain a shred of his composure.

His body shifted, allowing his foot to take a step forward. Then another, and another. He saw her sigh in relief, barely uttering a sound, but her eyes said it all.

She did not want to be alone at a time like this.

It was now he completely saw her, no longer clouded by his mask of fear. She was beautiful, even in her terror. Her face was shaggily framed by her pink hair, tangled and intertwining with itself as it made its decent down her shoulders and toward her waist. The rosette locks covering her exposed torso just enough to hide her full breasts, but just slightly. He cold still see the creamy milk-white skin of her chest, the soft curves of her supple body. Her jeans had been discarded by the man, whose brain now paints the ground, and were ripped and destroyed beyond use. Now all she wore was her underwear.

Oh God her body! He had never had a total glimpse of it before tonight, yet here she was, the most exposed she had ever been before him.

Gripping his hands tight enough to draw a thin line of blood against his palm, he was able to regain his focus, his control, and he finally found the resolve to work his voice. "You're…okay," it cracked, his words coming out sounding more like a question than a statement.

"I…I don't know. I… I woke up…and I was…I was here… Just…lying here… Oh, God…" She started struggling, her arms trying to rip their way out of their bonds from behind her back. She winced in pain as the ropes cut tighter into her delicate skin, but she kept up her rebellion, not willing to accept that she was helpless. "Just…never mind that. Come over here and help me!" she growled at him in frustration, suddenly incredibly irritated after realizing that he had yet to help her, struggling even more against the ropes at the realization.

Her efforts for freedom were futile. He had made sure of that. He had thought long and hard on where he was going to take her. The place needed to be safe, secure, where no one would hurt her, a place where she wouldn't hurt herself. There was no way he would have taken her home with him, his siblings just wouldn't understand. No one would understand. So he had contemplated on where they would go, when he had thought of it.

The empty warehouse by the bay.

It was perfect. No one had been there for the last two years, even yakuza didn't use it, since it was too obvious a place to look for them. Then again, wasn't the best place to hide in plain sight? He had agreed with this theory, and brought her straight to the cement building. There was no need to grab any supplies, for the building provided everything he needed. Its walls were secure, completely made of concrete, so there was no danger of bad weather or weak wood that she could easily escape from. The only ways of escape were the small windows that no human could fit through, no matter how petite they were, and the doors, lockable sheets of steel that you simply pulled down from the doorframe. The place was so vast and hollow that any yells, he couldn't bring himself to imagine her screaming, would be completely locked inside, turning into mere whispers by the time they were heard by the outside world.

So, he had taken her there.

His mind had gone numb, his body moving on its own. I was as though he were in a movie, and his spirit was watching the screen from some other place. He couldn't feel her weight, he couldn't feel her skin. Was it warm and full of life, or cold as death and loneliness as his was? He still didn't know. Nothing affected him. The howling wind was nothing against his skin, the complete cold of the night was nothing but a silent chill. All he was able to comprehend was the building appearing before him, growing larger the longer he ran.

The warehouse was completely vacant, except for a few hanging lights that still managed to cast a faint glow in the deep swelling darkness of the building, and the one thing he needed.

Sakura, the beautiful, defiant, girl he loved, would definitely try to fight her way for freedom, he had known that from the moment he had arrived at the warehouse, her unconscious body still limp in his arms. He had watched her face, serene and calm, her one-of-a-kind hair tangling itself around his legs in its length as he carried her. Should she fight, she would definitely get hurt. She could break a bone, or mar her beautiful skin with a scar from the sharp and unclean objects in the warehouse as she scrambled to make her escape. The mere thought of her skin being eternally wounded made him so incredibly… so incredibly… He wasn't sure what the feeling was exactly. Like so many times, when he was around Sakura, he found himself thinking things he had never even dreamed of, and the things he would feel… the overwhelming pleasure he got from just seeing her walking down the street or going to school… it was as addictive to him as cocaine was to a drug addict.

So he had picked up the rope, the dry, sturdy rope, off of the cold cement floor. It had pained him greatly, beyond what any words could describe, to tie up the independent, prideful beauty that haunted his vision. The ache in his chest was so great he wanted to break down and cry, to throw away the rope, open the door, and just let her go. But he couldn't, he wouldn't. There was always the chance…always that chance that she would get hurt in her panic at waking up in a strange and unknown place. So he swallowed the depression, the guilt, the overall…wrongness…of the act. He could show her no mercy, he could not be lacking in his commitment to her.

So he bound her wrists tight enough to make the skin go white, tied the coarse rope too devotedly, too strongly, and too impossible to escape from, no matter how strong she was. To make sure she didn't try anything bold, he tied the other end of her bonds to a thick metal pipe running down the wall behind her. He didn't give her any room to move, so her back was pressed against the wall, the cold of the rock creeping through the thin layer of her hair, making its way through her skin.

He could see the Goosebumps, tiny dots of cold, emerging all throughout her body, on her arms, on her legs, her stomach, her torso, her breasts…

"You…it was you…wasn't it…"

She was somewhat glaring at him now, her eyes filled with a dangerous glint, hatred, anger, loathing, disappointment, hope, doubt…

"So it was you," she finished, having received no protest against her accusation. She gave a short halfhearted laugh, a snicker at herself for being so gullible, so needy. "Of course it was you."

She took a deep breath, letting it out as a quivering sigh. This was not like her, vulnerable, weak, defenseless, exposed… Her head shook back and forth to clear her mind. It was the events of everything; the kidnapping, the excitement, the delirious memories, and waking up in a strange place…that was why she was acting so uncharacteristically. Or at least, that's what she tried to tell herself. She took in another deep breath, letting it out slower and more controlled. Her panic seemed to have subsided, and now all that was left was her true self, her dangerous self, her self that hurt people, and God, did she want to hurt him.

Her eyes immediately iced over, becoming hard and firm. Her gaze was a deadly glare, more deadly than he had ever seen her give anyone, and she was giving it to him.

To him!

"What the fuck do you want, Buddy?" she hissed at him, forgetting that she was the victim tied to the wall, too embarrassed of showing her weak self to the enemy to remember.

She soaked in the sight of him, trying to see if he was like any of the serial killers she had seen on the news, or if he had any perverted gleam in his eye. She tried her hardest to figure him out, but she got nothing. He gave nothing away. His face was expressionless, the only thing remotely informative was the dark circles around his eyes. It was such a deep black, a deep bruise, that it could only be the evidence of endless abuse to his body at night. A torturous inability to sleep.

There was something strange about the redhead before her, something odd, something nostalgic, familiar… Her eyes narrowed as realization dawned on her. "You… You're my stalker, aren't you? Ha!" she let out a short burst of laughter, "I knew I recognized you from somewhere. That damned presence of yours has been following me for an annoyingly long time. I get it, you're a horny bastard that wants to get in a good fuck, but is too pathetic to actually talk to me. So what do you do? You go and kidnap me! Suuuure," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes, the aftermath of her panic evident in her voice, "but it's okay, because that would make _any _girl fall for you." She backed up her distaste for him by spitting at his feet, proving just how disgusting he was to her.

He ignored her ranting with a blank expression, no sign of anger, or sadness, or fear. Instead, he walked forward the last few steps separating them, and crouched down before her.

"G-Get away, you creep!" she growled at him, pressing against the wall as though it would give her more room to get away from him if she tried hard enough. She wasn't scared of him hitting her, beating her, no, she could handle that. A wound of the flesh was able to heal, to be forgotten, but if he wanted to truly hurt her, he'd attack her pride, take all the nobility she felt for herself by forcing himself on her, ravaging her, leaving her helpless to watch and feel as he took the only true innocence she seemed to have left.

To her, losing her pride was the same as dying. But she was so confused. There was nothing she could do to defend herself if he was going to pounce on her. She was practically naked before him, and tied up, unable to defend herself. She wondered, would it hurt her pride more if she gave in and allowed him to penetrate her, or would it be worse if she fought against him and lost, watching as he took away everything that mattered to her by force?

She couldn't decide, she couldn't even think strait for that matter. Everything seemed to be spinning. All she could do was lock her eyes on his, watching his every move, his every shift. If he was going to rape her, she would know the moment he decided to do so. Nothing would change, no matter what she chose, so all she could do now was to be prepared, for whatever happened.

Gaara felt his heart sink.

This was not the Sakura he knew. She wasn't this full of despair. The girl he loved was a woman that would fight to the death as long as there was a single shred of hope. But the pink haired girl here, she was completely defeated. It was as though she had given up and was letting her fate rely with someone else altogether, seeing things too useless to even try and fight back.

Had he done this to her? Had he made the wrong choice in taking her here? No, if he hadn't she would have been defiled and most likely killed, if not spread around and forced to become the sexual pet of the rest of that group. If he hadn't done this she would be in worse shape. So why? Why was here spirit so broken? Was it really that fragile to begin with? Had she thought herself so invincible, that losing to someone left her confused and full of self-loathing and disgust?

The redhead knew he shouldn't, but he found himself regretting what he had done. Maybe it wasn't too late to have things go back to normal. If he really tried, if he was really believable, perhaps he could make her think, somewhere deep inside her, that he wasn't her stalker, that he was just a passerby that was startled by the traumatic experience of finding a naked and tied up girl in a warehouse. All he had to do was reach over, untie the ropes, and let her go. It would just take one simple step…

He wouldn't move.

He wanted to, he desired to, but he could not release her. He could not let her leave him all alone, after he finally got her, after he had risked their relationship, destroying the bond between them that they once had; the bond he had cherished so much…

She started screaming.

It shocked him.

Her beautiful voice ripped its way out of her throat, as though there was so many words that wanted to come out that they clawed and scrambled over each other, ringing through the air in a stunningly strong song. It was smooth, unbreaking; from the deepest part of her gut. She continued to scream loudly, throat aching in pain at the misuse, yet she continued her last resort. Taking a deep breath to refill her lungs, she started up again, this time adding more breaks for air, more emotions to her cracking voice.

He had always thought that her screaming would be enough to break his heart, to traumatize him, to make him break down and cry, but he was wrong. He was not in pain, he was not scared, and he was not sad. Instead, he found himself closing his eyes to better hear her melody. It was haunting, hypnotic, a hallucination of sound. Her voice was even more beautiful when she screamed. Unsaid feelings from the deepest part of her being were released. Anyone who heard such a thing would immediately know what she was feeling, thinking, needing…

But he could hear it, the pain of what that melody was doing to her. He could hear how raw her throat was becoming; he could feel it as though it were his own throat.

"What you're doing is pointless. No on can hear you." Gaara stated finally, as calmly as he could considering the angelic thing he had just heard. He hoped that telling her this would make her stop screaming, saving her throat from further unnecessary pain.

Surprisingly, she took the bait, and stopped.

Her breathing was ragged and hoarse, making aching sounds as she took in each deep breath, but she was soon able to speak again, her voice coming out in a tired crack, "You can't blame a girl for trying." Her mouth twitched into a cross between a mischievous smirk and a smile as she said it.

* * *

"How long are you going to keep me here?" the pink haired captive asked finally, her voice slow and slurred, her eyes becoming dull with tiredness; less sharp, less harsh, less accusing.

Gaara couldn't answer her.

How long was he going to keep her here? He honestly didn't know. He hadn't exactly thought things through. It was all very spur-of-the-moment. She'd need to eat, to drink, to go to the bathroom… Gaara was horrified. How was she going to go to the bathroom!? He'd have to untie her! He'd have to leave her alone and by herself! She'd need to brush her teeth! She'd need to take a bath or shower as well! The redhead was in a panic. All of the sudden everyday things he took for granted seemed extremely dire and important at that moment. His body started going numb again, the adrenaline caused by this horrifying realization making his blood flow too fast throughout his body. He felt light headed, dizzy. He didn't know what to do.

Calm, repetitive breathing kept him from having a panic attack, and drew his attention.

He dared look at his other self, afraid the crazed panic in his eyes might alarm her, but this was not the case. This was not the case at all. In fact, what he saw puzzled him, as much as it relieved him.

Sakura Haruno, even through the horrible ordeals she was facing, had managed to fall asleep.

Her head hung before him limp, her hair hanging down on her body. Pink hair was tucked behind her ear halfheartedly, though a cluster of strands was threatening to spill out and sweep their way across her eyes.

Gaara reached out to brush away the strands, but froze, hand in midair.

No matter how much he wanted to, the act of touching her scared him. His arm trembled as it was suspended in the air. Was she warm, or was she cold? What if she burned him? What if he burst into flames? He knew this was illogical, and was impossible, but he was still afraid. But what he was most terrified was not how warm she was. It was if she was cold. Human were warm blooded by nature. If her skin was cold, like his, it would mean that there was no true difference between them. There was no hope in her for a normal life anymore. Everything was riding on the way she felt. He couldn't bare it if she was as frozen as himself. He would rather live with a false truth, a false hope, than have his whole world come shattering down on him and cutting him into thousands of pieces.

But the longing to touch remained, growing even, inside his gut. It traveled up his torso, running down his arms, swarming over his mind.

'Touch her! Touch her!' it said.

The hair behind her ear fell, shielding part of her face from him.

He swallowed.

He wanted to see her…always?

The doubt started to settle in. Warm? Cold? Touch? Don't touch? Hide? Fight? Release? Kill? Everything was at odds with something else as equally important. He had made a specific rule never to touch her, never to let his cold plague infect her and ruin her like it had ruined him. Yet he also had another rule just as specific and important: _Watch her, always. _Her hair blocking the space between them kept him from doing so, yet if he went to remove it, he would break the other cardinal rule. _Look, don't touch. Look, don't touch… _The question was, which one was more important?

The redhead swallowed, his jade eyes never leaving her sleeping form for a second.

Slowly, cautiously, his hand started to move forward. Delicately, his fingers reached for her hair, his skin about to brusing against hers for a single, terrifying moment.

But he didn't stop.

He touched her.

* * *


	4. The Reason of the End

**Random Fact: I was listening to D'esparisRay's Sixty Nine song while I wrote the middle portion of this.**

**Like I said, random.**

**So, this is TECHINICALLY the end, but I have alternate versions of the end. For this reason I won't put this as completed until I have the other versions posted as well (I'll probably just call the others End II and End III or something) This took me so long because I couldn't decide which ending I wanted, how to state them, and all that stuff. **

**I'm sorry if this chapter doesn't sound as good as the others, I don't have the same mood as when I wrote the other chapters, so bare with it.**

**And don't get pissed at me if you don't like this ending, because (like I said) other versions are coming.**

**Oh, this chapter contains a lemon (a pathetic one, but still a lemon). Just saying…**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

His hand on her cheek, his flesh against her flesh, it was as though it were the most natural thing in the world to him. Her burning warmth melted the frozen ice of his own, sharing with him her radiant glow, warming him, protecting him, saving him from loneliness… If he had known it would feel this good, this warm, this peaceful, then he would never have waited so long to confront her. If he had known, he would have revealed himself to her months, no, years before. He wouldn't have had to suffer for so long alone. Why had he waited? Why was he ever scared of her seeing him? He understood her the best out of anyone, anywhere. He should have known that she would have understood him.

He moved his hand against her skin, a light, gentle, stroking motion. A sweet caress. Her cheek fit his hand perfectly, so smooth, and soft, and delicate. He never thought a woman would feel so fragile, so breakable…

The feeling of his hand moving against her burning skin was too overwhelming for him, he needed more. He needed to feel her.

Free hand rising to her other cheek, he gripped her face gently, the sun-like feeling on both of his hands now. He closed his eyes, getting lost in the feeling, the warmth. Still, he needed more. Leaning in, he placed his forehead against hers, his red bangs hanging shaggily by her eyes, his nose touching the bridge of hers, his lips releasing the hot steam of his breath, his skin feeling the hot steam of hers as she slept.

Everything felt perfect.

Is this what it felt like to be alive? He believed it was, and he was happy.

He was no longer alone; no longer cold. She was with him now, warming him, making him feel like a person; making him feel like a man.

He was human for the first time in his life.

A cold breath escaped him as he searched for more of her warmth. The temperature of her body made him realize just how cold he truly was. He was beyond human before he had found her, he had been beyond ice.

He was so cold that time itself had stopped for him.

But now…

Softly, slowly, his hands descended down her body, feeling every curve, every portion of skin, ever movement as she breathed. He continued the descent down her sides, her temperature growing even warmer as he made it to her thighs.

A purr escaped his lips as he traced the inside of her burning thigh, his knee shifting her legs apart to get himself closer to her.

She hadn't stirred in the slightest yet, her face still peaceful, her breaths still even, quieter now than before, but still there.

Her face… it was beautiful.

Long lashes, soft features, those beautiful plump lips…

Gaara didn't even notice he was leaning in until his own lips were pressed against hers. It shocked him at how gentle he was being. He had never been gentle before. But she was so soft, so fragile… He continued the kiss, working against her sleeping lips softly, slowly, only adding slightly more pressure as he went.

His eyes closed, allowing the sensations to take him over.

She smelt so good, like a spring breeze calling to him in the dead of winter; like solace to a dying man.

Her scent was intoxicating, causing him to take in deep breaths through his nose just to get enough of her.

That lovely hair of hers swayed in her face from her head moving limply to the side as he kissed her. He even dared running his hand back up her body, up toward her face, combing through her pink locks to feel all her skin once more, her soft, soft hair…

"You're beautiful…" he breathed, pulling away from the kiss to stare at her face again. She was like an angel, fallen from God, the most beautiful creature in a world of Shadows…

He brushed his lips against her hair, his breath stirring the strands silently, then he kissed her neck, a small flutter of a touch. Her soft skin against his rough…

His lips returned to claiming her neck, more vigorously than before. Sucking, nipping, leaving a mark…

He branded her; claiming her as his own.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear once he was finished, the words leaving a sweet sensation on his tongue, almost as sweet as the taste of the girl before him. "Sakura…"

A sound escaped her mouth once the words had left his. It was soft, new, something he had never heard before. It was a light moan, almost inaudible, but it was there.

Suddenly, everything changed.

He needed to have her.

All of her.

The sound that came from her lips had been an invitation, and he was not one to offend…

His mouth returned to hers, more furiously now, not letting any feeling, any taste, escape him. For a moment he worried about bruising her, but discarded the thought.

He needed her.

Hands aching, throbbing with the need, scouring every portion of her body, again sliding up her sides, her waist, her chest. Catching one of her bare breasts in one hand, he began to prod, to grope. The feeling of her youthful firmness made his head swim, his body heat up…

Another ache filled his thoughts, this time from his groin.

He pushed his knee against her more forcefully, spreading her legs as much as possible. The throbbing coming from his erection was all that filled his thoughts. That and the name of the person he loved, the only woman he had ever truly loved.

_Sakura, Sakura, Sakura, Sakura… _his thoughts sang.

He didn't know how he managed to loosen his pants, he didn't really care. All he knew was that they were far enough down to free him.

Breathing heavy breaths in anticipation, he ran his fingers down her waist, going to her hips where the only thing separating him and her was located. He wanted it gone, he wanted to be part of her… filling her… He felt the edge of her garment, his hand catching the fabric, dragging it down…

Now she was just like him, not completely naked, but enough.

He gripped her tightly, pulling her hips forward toward him, giving him room to position himself. She still wasn't very far from the wall, her arms still tied behind her, keeping her from being able to be at a truly advantageous position.

"Sakura… I love you. I love you!" he repeated, throwing her limp leg over his hip and shoving himself into her.

A gasp escaped him as he slid inside. It was so much warmer here than anywhere else she had, so much more alive…

Shoving a hand against the wall to steady himself, he began to rock his hips, thrusting into her with a restrained slowness at first, growing increasingly quicker and forceful.

"Ahh," he let out into the silence. She was wet, and warm, and perfect. She was everything he had ever wanted; a completion of himself.

When he moved, she moved. With each rock of his hips, with each thrust, her body responded, moving with him. It wasn't moving to help him, just moving from the force, but to him it was all the same.

They were one.

"Sakura," he called in ecstasy, wrapping his free arm around her back and pulling her closer, just so he could crash her lips on hers, all the need inside him waging war with her unresponsive body.

Her back kept pressing against the wall at a bad angle, keeping him from going completely inside her. His knees were starting to hurt, his hand clenching against the wall in pain.

This was no good.

He kept kissing her, his lips going numb with the force, but he allowed his hand to recede from around her back. He brought it back to himself, sliding it down his leg, into the deep pockets of his pants. It took him a while before he found the object he wanted. When he did, he gripped it tight, pulling it out of the fabric and into the open air.

It was a pocket knife, he didn't need to open his eyes in order to know that.

Skillfully, the fingers of his one hand flipped the blade open; the blade coming out clean and sharp from its sheath, waiting for its mission.

Gaara felt a sense of relief at hearing the blade spring free. He wasted no time in bringing it behind his lover's back, using the sharp edge of the knife to start working at cutting the ropes free from the wall.

It was too risky to keep thrusting with the force he was using, so he slowed down and became delicate, not willing to stop, not just yet.

"Shhh," Gaara soothed the girl as he cut at the ropes, though she had made no sound, "Shhh."

Finally the ropes snapped free.

Throwing the knife away somewhere off to the side of the wall, Gaara looked down at his sleeping woman. He could finally lay her down…

A needy whine escaped him as he slid out of her, his body already addicted to the warmth she provided him, the burning it made him feel. He bared with it the best he could as he held her around her waist, and crawled off to the side.

Gently, oh so gently, he laid her on the cement floor, careful of her head, careful of everything.

She was so serene while she slept…

Almost immediately after she was on the ground Gaara was on top of her again, thrusting with new found vigor and speed, using his arm for support again, but he was leaning in closer, his face merely inches away from hers as they laid together.

She rocked with him as he went, her breasts moving as he did. They was very enticing to him, so he grabbed one with his free hand.

Something was starting to build inside him. He knew what it was: Sweet Release. The knowledge of this only made him go faster, harder, wanting to get as much of her as he could before he was done.

And then he came, overflowing in her with such force that he collapsed on her, his breath so ragged and deep that his throat hurt. Sweat was everywhere, on his forehead, on his neck, seeping through his shirt.

He looked down at her, wanting to see what she felt like.

She was no different.

There was no change in her at all. Not in her face, not in her body, nothing. There was no sweat on her. She was just as serene as always. Her breath wasn't even labored or ragged.

Her breath.

Panic gripped Gaara once the word crossed his mind.

He could not hear Sakura's breath.

Quickly, he rolled off of her, placing a hand on her chest, leaning his head close to hers, trying desperately to hear, but there was nothing. No movement, no sound.

No breath.

"Sakura?" Gaara called, denial filling his words, his mind, his everything. She couldn't be dead. There was no way she could be dead. She wasn't dead. "Sakura!?" he repeated, more urgently, his hands on her shoulders, trying to shake her awake.

Her head lolled limply from side to side as he did, but nothing else. There was no other response.

_No… No! This isn't happening!_

"SAKURA!?" Gaara yelled, his voice louder than he had ever had it before. "SAKURA!"

_She can't be dead! _he hissed in his mind.

His hands pounded down on her chest, one over the other, trying to force the life back into her, but she did not wake. He gripped her mouth with his own, plugging her nose and breathing. Still, she did not wake.

The redhead continued his urgent maneuvers, pushing down on her chest, breathing, pushing down, breathing, even though he had no idea what the hell he was doing.

He was not certified in CPR. He had never even taken a class.

* * *

Time passed. He had no idea how much. All he knew was the ache of his muscles, the tiredness of his entire body, the lifeless girl beneath his hands.

She wasn't going to wake up, no matter how hard he tried.

The revelation left Gaara in despair.

No words would leave his mouth, not even a sound. Everything went numb; his body, his thoughts, his breathing… It was as though someone had stopped time all together; someone had stopped him.

He could feel something on his face. It was heavy, foreign, something he had never felt before, or if he had it was from so long ago. So very long…

His arm smeared the liquid on his face. When he brought it down and looked, he felt his heart break.

Tears.

He was crying.

Of course. He had every right to cry. Everything was dead. His only true love, his other self, his reason for existing…

Dead.

Reaching out, he gently held her body, cradling her against his lap.

She was so lovely, even now; even in death. So beautiful…

He brushed his hand through her hair, first to allow him to see all of her face, then in a caressing manner. The manner of a lover. The feel of each strand against his hand was the same, soft, delicate. The beautiful pink hue that belonged to her and her alone...

Had belonged...

Gaara pulled her closer, embracing her against his chest, his hand resting on the back of her head for support. He closed her eyes, trying to imagine her alive, breathing, talking, smiling…

"I love you," Gaara said, the only truly meaningful thing he had ever said to anyone in his life.

His eyes opened. Something was strange. His hand… it felt…

He kept her near him, holding her even tighter as he released his other hand, lifting it so he could see what the strange sensation on it was.

Blood.

The back of her head…

Suddenly Gaara felt sick, almost needing to vomit, but he swallowed it down.

Back in the alley, when she had been hit with the board… She had such a bad head wound. How had he not realized?

New tears fell down his face, guilt rushing throw him so fast that he started to get dizzy.

He never should have taken her here. He never should have been so selfish. He should have taken her to a hospital. Even if she hated him; even if he never got to see her again... It would have been worth it if she was able to live.

It was all his fault. It was entirely his fault that she died.

He killed her.

His teeth grit together, sobs trying to rip their way out of his throat, but he wouldn't cry, not for himself. Not for what he had done. It would be a disgrace to her. Instead he opened his mouth, all his emotions flooding out.

He screamed.

* * *

The cold feel of cement pressed against his cheek.

_Strange… _he thought. His body must have collapsed, for he had been sitting up before. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered anymore…

All he did was stare; stare at the woman's body, the warmth she gave him already leaving his own.

He had no desire to leave this place. He wondered if he ever really did. Living seemed pointless without her, and he didn't want to leave her alone.

He wanted to be with her, to see her, always.

Just like he always had.

Gaara lay there with her body, the skin already going cold. The carcass growing stiff as time went on. He felt the tears dry on his face, his eyes no longer able to produce enough to meet the requirements of his sadness.

Instead he lay next to her, staring at her face; her pale, cold face. All of her skin had gone so cold… all the warmth she once had was gone, like it had been sucked into a void.

A sharp intake of breath filled the silence at the thought.

New tears started to form in his eyes again as the truth hit him.

Gaara, the cold, lifeless void, had sucked the only light in the world right out of her body.

He had destroyed his sun.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Sakura. Please Forgive me." he cried, clutching her lifeless body close, hugging her.

Forgive me for loving you.

* * *

**The end.**

**Did anyone else notice that this is like the EXACT OPPOSITE of By the Stroke of Midnight? Or am I just psyching myself out?**

**Hoped you guys enjoyed it.**

**Feel free to tell me how you would have liked it to end (as long as you don't say "they should have found they loved each other and escaped" cuz this is a dark romance, not supposed to have a happy ending) and maybe, MAYBE I will write it as one of my alternative endings.**


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